


love turns the whole thing around

by theragingstorm



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Cassandra Cain is Batgirl, Closeted Character, Family Fluff, Galas, Gen, Lesbian Character, just to give you a sense of the timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 11:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theragingstorm/pseuds/theragingstorm
Summary: Other people, and secrets, can be frustrating. But the right people can make it easier.





	love turns the whole thing around

**Author's Note:**

> I have longer fics that I really should be working on, but this just sort of sprang into my head? I guess it’s good to keep in mind that the right people really do make things easier. 
> 
> Vivaldi’s “Winter” and Kina Grannis’ “Heart of Life,” which the title came from (and what they were undoubtedly listening to in the cab) are also definitely worth a listen.

It was a gala like many others.

The limo the three of them emerged from was one of dozens. The boys were two of hundreds of men. She was one of hundreds of women.

But Cass stood out from them nonetheless.

She fidgeted with her chiffon sleeves. The dress was long and deep indigo, sweeping down to her ankles and curling up to her collarbone, and she wore flats instead of heels, but she still pulled at the fabric and tucked feathery locks of hair behind her ears. The women around her all wore visages of ease, and they were all — her breath caught — strikingly beautiful.

Dick was all charm and friendliness, of course, his hair swept back and his eyes sparkling. Tim was pale and slightly awkward, but he still managed to smile and wave to every single person who noticed him. Both of them wore the tuxes Bruce had bought them like they were born to.

Cass felt each camera flash from the gathered paparazzi like a physical thing.

“Look over here!”

“Over here!”

“Give us a smile, sweetheart!”

Her face remained neutral. One of the photographers actually sighed in disappointment and turned back to the boys.

Others were more determined.

“Look here, girl.”

The reporter seized her by the arm, obviously not noting the muscle definition through the chiffon. Cass could’ve twisted free in half a second, and in another half second, pinned his arm behind his back and kicked in the back of his knees, knocking him to the ground.

Instead, she just twisted free, then yanked the hem of her dress up to her knees so as to climb the staircase. Her flats thumped dully on the red carpet as she ascended, and she heard more than a few murmurs from the pretty ladies clutching the men’s shoulders. She guessed it was because she wasn’t wearing heels.

The boys gave her looks of concern as she caught up to them. She shot them what she hoped was a reassuring glance, though probably not. She wasn’t very good at those.

The ballroom wasn’t mostly bare like Bruce’s. The walls were cluttered with old paintings, the crystal chandelier too close, the ceiling too low. The walls were also painted dark yellow, instead of Bruce’s warm red. Waiters like penguins in their suits cluttered the place, with drinks fizzing gently upon silver platters. The men’s suits were equally unvaried, monochrome black and white. Even their ties followed that pattern.

But the women...

Cass swallowed hard looking at them all, smoothing down the front of her dress.

Most of the women were in their twenties or thirties, with a few older ones sprinkled in here and there, their silver hair tied up in neat buns. The younger women showed off their backs and legs and breasts in red and silver and violet (she thought of Stephanie, and for some reason swallowed again); the older ones were more covered up, but there was still something about their faces...

She was equally dizzied by their beauty and by the powerful messages their bodies were sending out.

_I’m bored._

_I’m worried — is my husband cheating on me with her?_

_I’m worried about my daughter._

_I wish I were drunk._

_I hate these events so much I hate I hate I hate..._

Cass ran her tongue over her lips, running to the nearest table of food to grab a plate of appetizers. From the table, she kept watching the women, watching their words contrast with their bodies.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Marcus.” _Oh god, get that pervert away from me._

“Celia, darling! I’m glad you’re doing so well.” _Why doesn’t this bitch drop dead?_

“Yes, I’m so proud of my husband.” _Except for that he’s a total bore who never makes me cum, ever._

Cass bit back a laugh at that one, then nearly choked on her baby quiche as her studying of that woman’s body made her very aware of how her hips moved under her dress. Again, she was strongly reminded of Stephanie in the power of her stance.

She quickly switched her attention back to the older women, privately wondering if this, what she was doing, was normal. If this was a thing girls and women did to each other. For a moment, she thought she might ask Stephanie, being her best friend and all, but some instinct made her realize that that was a bad idea.

She decided instead that she would ask Barbara, that _she_ would be the first person she told. Barbara had told her (truthfully, she knew, she always knew when someone was being truthful) that she liked men...but Cass had also caught her staring at that beautiful Black Canary every once in a while. Barbara would know if this was okay.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

She was abruptly snapped out of her thoughts by one of the men from the party. He was about forty, short and fat, with very little hair. He also sported a wedding ring on one hand.

She could immediately see his intentions, though that had no effect on her own level of interest. If she was being honest, she was really far more interested in the mini chocolate éclairs.

So she swept right past him and towards the dessert table. More men flocked around her as she did; she could tell that they recognized her as that girl Bruce Wayne had taken in, what they thought they could do with her if they put in just a little effort.

She brushed her hair back and picked up some éclairs.

“Hello darling,” one of the men crooned. His smile was friendly enough, but Cass wasn’t fooled.

Still not talking to any of them, she tried to walk past.

“That’s not very nice,” a different one chided, more than a little patronizingly. “Don’t you want to stay a while? Talk a while?”

Cass opened her mouth, but what was she supposed to say to that?

“No.” She cleared her throat. “Not interested.”

“No?” The first man raised his eyebrows. “I doubt that. You see, I know a lot about unspoken messages —”

 _She_ doubted _that_. If he knew as much about unspoken messages as she did, he would easily be able to tell that she was about as attracted to him as she was to the canapés. That blond woman in the sparkly purple dress on the other hand...

“— and I know that women often say no when they really mean yes.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Not true,” she said, wishing she knew how to navigate out of the conversation.

“Even if it isn’t, you’ll easily change your mind once you get to know the person you’re talking to,” a third chimed in.

Cass was getting tempted to take the easy way out, promise to Bruce not to punch anyone be damned, when a very different male voice cut in.

“Cassie, why didn’t you call me? I know this is your favorite song!”

Dick, walking away from a disappointed woman who had been about to chat him up, approached the dessert table, his barely touched champagne glass held loosely, smiling at her. He was genuinely happy to see her.

“Vivaldi, right?” Dick gestured to the string quartet. “And I know you have a lot of people who love you, but do you think you could spare a few steps for little old me?”

She pointed at him teasingly. The older men gaped at them, forgotten.

“Maybe. Remember: I... _am_ your biggest critic.”

“Yeah I know, Babs thinks it’s hilarious.”

Soon the two of them spun around the ballroom, the violinist coaxing a high-pitched melody out of his instrument. She was surprised by how easy it was to dance with Dick...like fighting, but gentler.

“You should dance more often, Cassie, you’re very good at it,” he said kindly. Then in an undertone: “Tim’s called a taxi, he said to sneak out front as soon as ‘Winter’s’ over.”

“The season...or the song?”

“Pretty sure it’s the song. If not, I suppose we’ll find out by my next birthday.”

She let him go first, weaving effusively through the crowd, like he was born to navigate other people. She took a deep breath, then stiffened her shoulders, then pushed through the clusters of people. The women took no notice of her, only of their conversations, and the men only reached after her for a moment before she slipped away.

Tim greeted her on the top step. This time, she was only momentarily blinded by what was left of the paparazzi, and she saw that Tim was just as happy to see her as Dick had been. Though she did have to look down to see him as he bounced in place, and she wasn’t very tall.

“C’mon,” he said eagerly, taking her hand, “I asked the cabbie to take us to Denny’s. It’s gonna beat the heck out of those canapés.”

She hiked her dress up to her thighs and ran down alongside him.

The door of the cab slammed shut behind them, cutting off the noise of the party. A pine-shaped air freshener and a metal amulet shaped like the Star of David jangled beneath the rearview mirror.

“We promised Bruce...at least an hour,” she said breathlessly, but she was smiling.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Dick called from shotgun, turning around and grinning right back.

The cabbie turned on the radio. A guitar strummed to life, so different from the violin.

“And besides,” Tim called over the music, “once they got a few pictures and words in with us, they’ll never notice that we bailed on the party.”

As they pulled away, Cass leaned on Tim’s shoulder, a grin of her own finally taking shape. She was fairly sure that the boys hadn’t understood, maybe, how she’d felt in that ballroom. She still had yet to tell them.

But they hadn’t had to understand to make her actually happy for the first time that night. And that they could, that they’d bothered, that by itself made her all the more happy still. 


End file.
